


boy problems dot mp3

by CatchAsCatchCan



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: @joel farabee: "morgan makes me venmo him just to talk", M/M, Pining, Rookie camp crushes, and travis konecny's neverending quest to adopt a rookie, inspired by farabee's deeply embarrassing instagram comment history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatchAsCatchCan/pseuds/CatchAsCatchCan
Summary: TK grins at Joel. “Well, it’s my job to help you out, seeing as you’re my rookie and everything.”“He’s not your rookie,” Nolan says. “You can’t just claim him, that's not how that works.”Or, rookie camp
Relationships: Joel Farabee/Morgan Frost, Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 44
Kudos: 403
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	boy problems dot mp3

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manybumblebees](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manybumblebees/gifts).

> Happy holidays! If you’ve seen the pairing tag, you _probably_ know who this treat author is. 
> 
> Title is very much just the CRJ song, and this was lovingly titled “disaster rookie!” in my drafts, and it was insanely fun to write. The soundtrack to this is purely taylor swift’s you belong with me
> 
> Also, if you, dear reader, have not taken 30 minutes to stalk morgan frost's instagram to look at the truly embarrassing comments joel farabee leaves there on the reg, would recommend (the comment in the tags is very much real)

His prospect camp roommate walks through the door and Joel’s first thought is, _Oh, fuck._

He’s about the same height as Joel, but his dark hair is neatly combed whereas Joel’s is sticking out from under his baseball cap in every direction. When he holds his hand out to introduce himself as “Morgan Frost, but call me Frosty,” his smile lights up his whole face. Joel shakes his hand and feels horrifically, awkwardly, American. 

Morgan drove himself down here, because this is his third prospect camp and in his own words, his parents have “seen more than enough of New Jersey.” Joel’s parents are still downstairs at the hotel breakfast bar, because even though they’ve already sent him off to college once, they’re still nervous about leaving him in the big city to fend for himself. As Morgan unpacks, Joel fights the urge to text them to stay out of the room. 

Of course, as soon as he thinks that, his mom knocks on his door and lets herself in. Immediately she zeroes in on Morgan. “Oh hi, honey! You must be Joel’s roommate, so nice of them to pay for your hotel room, don’t you think?” she says, far too cheerily for Joel's comfort. 

Morgan just smiles widely and goes to shake her hand too. “This is my third camp,” he confides. “My parents were thrilled that I had a roommate last year, otherwise I never would have made it.” 

Joel has already mostly unpacked, or as much as he can in a hotel room with one dresser and two beds that are three feet apart. While he hangs up his suits, his mom putters around, checking that the air-conditioner is on, that the TV works, that the mini-refrigerator is plugged in. 

He realizes after a minute that he’s tuned out, but Morgan is still talking. He’s got a low, almost sweet voice, and he’s telling Joel’s mom about his first two prospect camps. About how welcoming Giroux was and about how accommodating the front office had been when he had a minor family emergency. 

Joel can tell that his mom is charmed by Morgan already. Of course.

* * *

The most important thing that Joel learns about Morgan, after the fact that he has pretty eyes and nice hair and a huge smile, is that he’s the grumpiest motherfucker in the world when he wakes up.

The first day of camp, Joel almost has to resort to throwing a cup of cold water in his face just to get him out of bed, which would be a terrible second impression. It would probably be worse though if he let his roommate sleep through prospect camp, which is why he goes as far as unwrapping a styrofoam hotel cup before Morgan finally sits up. 

His hair is completely flat on one side, and he shakes his head like a dog before stomping into the bathroom and turning on the shower. 

Joel takes one look at the closed bathroom door and then he turns right around and switches on the hotel coffee pot. 

Ten minutes later, Morgan stumbles back out into the room in only a towel, looking marginally more awake than before. His hair is dripping wet and Joel can see where tiny water droplets are clinging to his lashes. Joel blinks twice, then shoves a cup of nasty instant coffee into his hands and books it for the bathroom. He’s trying so hard not to stare that he runs straight into the doorframe. 

When Joel finishes getting dressed, he comes out of the bathroom to Morgan finally looking alive. “Sorry about that,” he says, voice soft. “I’m bad at mornings.”

This is an understatement. After a few days, they develop a routine. Every morning, Joel makes subpar hotel coffee while Morgan attempts to become a person again, then they sprint downstairs to shovel down subpar hotel eggs and subpar hotel bacon before Morgan drives them both to the rink. In the car, Morgan plays terrible pop music and Joel pretends like he doesn’t know all the words to “Call Me Maybe.”

Joel’s brain whispers traitorous, stupid thoughts about keeping this routine up once the season starts, sharing an apartment as rookies or maybe, like, forever and—oh my God, his subconscious needs to get a filter.

* * *

The morning before their first full pre-season game practice, Joel finds Morgan brushing his teeth in the tiny bathroom. Morgan still has his eyes firmly closed. He looks like he’s fifteen seconds away from passing out on their bathroom floor. 

“Hey, uh, Frosty,” Joel starts without really meaning to, because apparently even though Morgan currently looks capable of committing a triple homicide, Joel still wants his attention. Morgan cracks one eye open and glares at him. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

Morgan blinks at him. There is no life behind those eyes. Five seconds pass, then fifteen, before Morgan visibly summons the will to form words. “Fuckin’—pay me.”

“What?”

“Pay me five dollars and you can ask me a question before I have any coffee,” Morgan slurs around his toothbrush. His eyes are closed again. Joel slowly backs out of the bathroom and turns on the coffee pot.

Joel doesn’t actually ask anything, but after he’s showered and Morgan has downed his waiting cup of coffee in three gulps, Morgan looks at his phone at almost chokes laughing. 

He holds the screen out to Joel. “You _Venmo-ed me five dollars?_ Bro, I’m sorry but you know not to listen to me in the morning.” 

“I thought you were gonna kill me,” Joel jokes back, but he’s mostly giddy that he managed to make Morgan laugh like that. Morgan is flushed and his eyes are bright, and Joel can’t stop staring even though Morgan is definitely talking again.

“What did you want to ask me?” Joel’s stupid, dazed brain manages to pick up out of the haze of picturing other things that could make Morgan flush like that. 

Joel blushes. Talking had been a lot easier when Morgan had his eyes closed. 

“Um,” he starts, smoothly. “Are you nervous?”

Morgan blinks at him, like that wasn’t the question he had been expecting. To be fair, it could also be because Joel’s voice just climbed two octaves. 

“I mean, I guess?” Morgan says, tilting his head to the side. With his huge eyes and floppy hair, he looks like a puppy. “It’s my first real shot at the NHL, anyone would be nervous. But I feel like, you know, I just gotta play through it.” 

Joel nods. He can’t be that chill about it. Personally, he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. 

Then Morgan runs a hand through his hair and smiles a little shamefaced, “Actually, that’s such a media bullshit answer. I’m fucking terrified.”

“Oh god, me too,” Joel says in a rush. 

They both freeze and then Morgan giggles. That sets Joel off, and then they’re both laughing so hard that Joel has to sit down. 

“Glad it’s not just me,” Morgan says as he uses his thumbs to wipe away tears of laughter. 

“Me too,” Joel says. He doesn’t say, _I’m glad you’re here,_ or _thanks for saying that_, or even _would you want to go get lunch with me after practice?_, because that would be weird and desperate. 

Morgan just smiles over at him, and now that he’s paying attention, Joel can tell how stressed he had been. Now, his shoulders are a little looser, his hands a little steadier. 

They ride to the rink together just like always, but this time when Morgan sings along to the weird indie bands he likes, Joel doesn’t make fun of him for it. He maybe even sings along too.

* * *

The night before their first game, Joel can’t sleep. He knows he needs at least five hours to be functional on the ice, but as the clock ticks down until his six am wake up call, the stress just keeps building. 

He tosses and turns in the cramped hotel bed, trying to find a comfortable position. He wishes desperately that he could just shut off his brain. 

He rolls onto his side and pulls up Twitter, hoping to shield the brightness from waking up Morgan. He sees a tweet from a friend wishing him luck, and he feels sick all over again. 

Twitter is out, so he flips over, pulls his head under his blankets, and tries listening to music. It’s nine skipped songs and two podcasts at double-speed later when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He bolts upright and definitely doesn’t shriek. 

“Hey,” Morgan says, yawning. “You should sleep.” 

Joel blinks at him. Would that he could, damn it. “Uh, okay?” he says, and tries not to sound snippy. He doesn’t really think he succeeds. 

“Budge over,” Morgan mumbles, and Joel realizes he’s holding a pillow. When Joel doesn’t move, Morgan mimes whacking him with it. 

“Okay, alright, geez,” Joel says, but he scoots over. 

He was already pretty sure what Morgan was planning to do, but he still squeaks a little when he climbs under the covers with him. Morgan graciously ignores this. 

“Okay,” Morgan says, and he’s already got his eyes closed. “Now go to sleep, Bees.”

Joel isn’t going to fall asleep now, not when he’s aware of every millimeter separating his and Morgan’s arms and how if he just twitched a little their pinky fingers would be overlapping. But as he stares at Morgan’s eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, he feels his own eyes getting heavy and he drops off to sleep before he even notices. 

Joel wakes up in the middle of the night feeling just a little too warm. He blinks and tries to fall back asleep, before he realizes that the pillow his face is buried in isn’t actually a pillow. He has his face pressed into the back of Morgan’s neck, and his arm is wrapped around Morgan’s middle so that he’s pressed into Joel’s chest. 

Joel’s immediate thought is to roll out of bed and attempt to join witness protection, or maybe just scream really loudly for a really long time. He does neither of these things. He deserves a medal, probably. One that’s gold and shiny and says “I survived my big, stupid crush on Morgan Frost,” like one of those DisneyWorld shirts.

He tries to keep his whole body relaxed so he doesn’t wake up Morgan when he moves. He’s not sure the last time he breathed, but it was probably a while ago. He’s starting to feel lightheaded. Just as he slowly manages to pull his arm away, Morgan lets out a sleepy sigh, turns over, and tucks his face into Joel’s shoulder. 

Joel thanks god that it’s still dark, because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing so hard you could use his face to light a candle. His hand is still hovering in the air. He can feel Morgan breathing against his chest. 

He can feel Morgan’s lips move when he says, voice soft and only half-awake, “I said, go to sleep.” 

Joel obediently tucks his arm back around Morgan’s waist and goes to sleep. 

They don’t mention it the next morning.

* * *

Morgan is sitting with Kevin after practice, and he’s taking too long to unlace his skates because he can’t stop laughing. 

Joel is trying to keep his staring to a minimum, but it’s hard when Morgan looks like that. Every time Morgan laughs, he tips his head back and scrunches up his nose. His normally perfect hair is sweaty and messy, and he keeps having to flick it out of his face. 

Joel flexes his fingers at his side, trying to forget how nice it felt to hold him. 

Suddenly, a weight settles across his shoulders, and he looks up to see Travis with an arm slung around him. Nolan is sitting in the stall next to him, completely disinterested in what his other half is doing. 

TK pulls Joel closer so that he can whisper in his ear without having to stretch. “Rookie camp crush, eh?” he says, with an air of nostalgia, as if he somehow misses this feeling of complete and constant embarrassment. 

Nolan snorts. TK doesn’t whisper quietly. 

“I mean, I get it, he’s cute,” TK says, wildly gesticulating with the hand not still around Joel’s shoulder. 

He pulls Joel even closer, then speaks at exactly the same volume. “If you ask me, I think you should ask him out.”

Nolan doesn’t look up from his phone, but he says, “He didn’t ask you, jackass.”

TK feigns offense. “Well, he should! It worked out pretty well for me, at least,” he says, and shoots Nolan a grin. 

Nolan just hums low in his throat, never taking his eyes off what appears to be an unlimited level of Candy Crush. His cheeks are red though, and he looks kind of pleased. “Damn right it did,” he says at last. 

Joel follows the whole exchange with wide eyes, looking back and forth between them. 

“Okay,” he says, and attempts to get up. TK doesn’t budge. He’s a hell of a lot stronger than he looks. 

At this, Nolan finally puts his phone away. “C’mon dude, you can continue your quest to adopt a rookie later. I want to go to Wawa.” 

TK heaves the most tragic sigh that Joel has ever heard, but he stands up anyway. “Fine,” he says and starts for the door. At the last minute, he whips around and calls over his shoulder, “Just think about what I said, Bees!” 

Joel goes to shoot Nolan a grateful look, but Nolan has turned his attention fully to TK. He’s got a strange look on his face, like he’s fond but would really rather not be. 

TK gives a jaunty little wave to the room as a whole, before Nolan shoves him out the door. 

“Are they—“ Joel starts to say.

“—Always like that?” Ghost cuts in next to him. Joel jumps. He hadn’t even realized he was there. 

“Yeah,” Ghost continues, “pretty much.” 

He stands up, then reaches over to ruffle Joel’s hair. “Also, you probably should ask him out. Just saying.”

* * *

It took about a week and a half for Joel to realize that Morgan isn't just amazing at Chel, he can wipe the floor with practically anybody. 

Their second day in the hotel, they had hooked up Joel’s XBox to the hotel TV, which is stuck in such a weird little corner that, to play, one person has to sit on the far edge of the couch and one person has to sit in the tiny desk chair. 

That day, Morgan had proceeded to win six straight rounds, and Joel was pretty sure he only won the last one because Morgan let him. It doesn’t help that every time Morgan thinks he’s about to score, he leans forward and his knee bumps into Joel’s and Joel momentarily loses the ability to form coherent thoughts or play effective defense. 

Except now, Morgan has started placing bets on rounds. Stuff like: winner gets to pick the music, or loser has to make coffee. As if Morgan would ever let Joel touch the stereo in his car. 

And then he says, right in front of a video crew filming some NHLTV segment, that the winner has to buy dinner. “I could do with a free meal,” he quips into the camera.

Joel nearly drops his controller. 

And he doesn’t want to lose, of course, but he also doesn’t think he could win if he tried. So, he maybe doesn’t really … try. Instead, he just watches Morgan cheer as he gets a pretty sick trickshot.

They have practice the next day, but it’s in the afternoon. To celebrate the late start, Joel calls in a heaping order of Chinese food, and as promised, he pays for it all.

They sit facing each other on their respective beds, as Joel fails to eat with chopsticks and Morgan does so flawlessly. “My billet mom taught me last year,” he says, and takes another huge bite of Kung Pao chicken. 

After Joel drops another piece of bell pepper down his front, Morgan bursts out laughing. “Oh my god, come here,” he says, and sets down his own carton of food on the cramped bedside table. Three empty water bottles get knocked to the floor in the process. 

“What?” 

“It’s not that hard, bud, just come here,” Morgan says again, clicking his chopsticks together. 

Joel moves the three feet over to the other bed. 

“Hold them like this,” Morgan says, and demonstrates. 

Joel stares at Morgan’s hands, then drops his chopsticks and gets sauce on Morgan’s comforter. 

Morgan sighs in a way that Joel hopes is fond, but probably isn’t. He holds his chopsticks sideways with his teeth, the way those fancy dancers hold flowers, then reaches over and picks up Joel’s chopsticks. He makes a “gimme” gesture at Joel’s right hand.

Hesitantly, Joel holds out his hand. “Uh,” he says, “what’s up, dawg?” Jesus Christ.

Morgan rolls his eyes, but can’t say anything without his chopsticks falling out of his mouth. Instead, he just takes Joel’s hand and starts arranging his fingers around the chopsticks until Joel is holding them the same way Morgan had demonstrated. 

Satisfied, he sits back and starts eating his own food again, using the chopsticks he had just been holding in his mouth. It’s kind of gross, if Joel is being honest. His fingers still tingle where Morgan touched them.

“You know, they’ll give you forks for that kind of thing,” Morgan says, as though it had just occurred to him. Joel does know this, but he figured trying and failing to use chopsticks would be slightly cooler than eating Chinese food with a fork. Instead, he just looks like a culturally insensitive idiot.

Joel glowers at him, unconvincingly, but goes back to eating with slightly more success. 

“Thanks,” Joel mumbles. When he goes to get another bite, Morgan reaches over and taps their chopsticks together.

* * *

The next full team practice, Joel skates in circles until he builds up enough confidence to intercept TK and ask to talk to him later. Joel doesn’t love how thrilled TK looks. 

He takes a very fast shower, then ends up waiting in the hall for fifteen minutes while TK takes forever. When he finally comes out of the doors, he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Okay, kid, what’s up?” 

Kid? Travis is only like three years older than him. “It’s, um, about what you said the other day?” 

Travis just looks at him. “I say, like, a lot of things, pretty much every day.”

Joel drops his voice low and glances around, “About, like, asking someone out during camp?”

Travis lights up. “Oh my god, are you coming to me for advice? Romantic advice?” 

Joel shrugs his shoulders up to his ears. “You seemed like the expert?” Everything he’s saying is turning into a question. 

Travis, if possible, looks even more excited. He’s literally bouncing on the balls of his feet to the rhythm of whatever baseline is blasting out of the locker room. “I can’t wait to tell Patty about this. This is the best day of my life.” 

“So, uh, any advice you can give me would be great,” Joel prods. 

Travis gives him a decisive nod and a sly smile. “We’re gonna go get sushi.” 

Twenty minutes and one very strange car ride later, Nolan joins them at the sushi place. He shoots TK an aggrieved look when he sits down next to him. TK ignores this completely in favor of passing him a huge laminated menu.

TK manages to restrain himself until their food arrives, then immediately leans across the table to say, “Okay, young padawan, what do you want to know?” 

Joel shrugs, kind of helplessly. “I mean—, just—, how do I—,” before he cuts himself off and buries his face in his hands with a groan. 

TK just grins at him. “Well, it’s my job to help you out, seeing as you’re my rookie now and everything.”

“He’s not your rookie,” Nolan says. “You can’t just claim him, that's not how that works.”

“What do you know? I’m practically a veteran,” TK responds. “I just signed for six years! I’m a veteran.”

“Your veteran deal better be buying me this sushi,” Nolan grumbles, before sticking an entire California roll in his mouth.

TK pulls a face. “The things I do for you.” Then, he pops a piece of sushi in his mouth with his bare hands, turns back to Joel, and announces with his mouth full, “As the expert on inter-team dating, I’m telling you the secret. You gotta woo him.”

Joel inhales his water. Nolan reaches across to uselessly slap his back, while shooting back at TK, “You didn’t woo me, dude.” 

Joel finally stops coughing long enough to gasp out, "_What_?" 

Unfortunately, this gives TK enough time to say, faux-offended, “I absolutely wooed you, baby. You were wooed.”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “No way. You took me to get soft pretzels from Wawa every day for a week, and _then_ told me that those were supposed to be dates.” 

“Soft pretzels are romantic food, Patty!” 

“Soft pretzels at Wawa are a dollar-seventy. I saw you buy one with change you found on the ground.”

“I’ll buy you flowers next time, sweetheart.” 

Nolan swats at him, presumably for the pet name. TK ducks and almost upends the entire table. He’s about to open his mouth to retort again, but Joel cuts in.

“—Uh, guys?” 

TK blinks like he forgot what they were talking about. “Right! Wrong rookie romance, bro,” he says accusingly, like that whole thing was Nolan’s fault. 

“I’m not the one distract—!,” Nolan starts, then cuts himself off. “Oh, whatever.”

“So what I was saying was,” Travis forges on, “you should buy him flowers. Or take him out somewhere nice. I know all the nice restaurants this side of New Jersey.”

“You order takeout from the same shitty place two times a week,” Nolan says.

TK flaps his hand at him to be quiet. “I’m serious! And besides, you like that shitty place, that's why we get it two times a week.”

“But what if he says no?” Joel asks, because he really does want some answers here.

“Frosty won’t say no,” TK says, as if this should be obvious. “He stares at you, like, all the time.”

“He—what?” 

“Last week he almost took one of Provy’s slapshots to the knee because he was watching you instead of paying attention to the puck,” TK explains, using both hands and a sushi roll to act out, presumably, Provy, Frosty, and the errant puck in question. “He also talks about you, like, so much.”

“Really?” Joel asks, perking up.

TK and Nolan both laugh at him. “Yeah,” Nolan says. “Hayesy told me he hears about you practically every day.” 

“Oh,” Joel says, “cool.”

“Cool,” Nolan parrots. TK kicks him under the table. 

“Hey!” Nolan yelps.

“Don’t tease him, bro,” TK says. “He has a crush.”

The conversation devolves again. 

They finally get up to leave the restaurant an hour later. Joel knows nothing more about what to do with Morgan, but ten times more about TK and Nolan’s bizarre flirting. 

As TK goes to the register to pay, because Nolan casually bullied him into paying for all of them, Nolan pulls Joel over towards the door. 

“Look,” he says, and his voice is a low rumble, “I know it can be scary.”

“What?”

“Dating a teammate. It can be scary, but it can be worth it. But—listen, don’t take any of Travis’ advice. Just ask him to get coffee one day.” 

Joel can only nod. That does sound better. At one point, TK had suggested a serenade.

* * *

TK calls him the next morning. Joel has no idea how he got his number, only that he picks up the phone to someone loudly saying, “Well, did you talk to him?”

“...Travis?” Joel asks, still half asleep after a long night of drinking shitty beer and losing to Morgan at Smash Bros. 

TK has way too much energy for this early in the morning. “Duh, bro, who else would it be?” Fair, Joel supposes. No one else would be calling him at ass-o’clock in the morning to ask about his boy problems. 

He makes a noise into the phone that Travis must take as assent, because he continues on, “Well? Did you talk? Oh! Are you in the same bed?”

“No! And, I haven’t yet,” Joel hisses, because Morgan is literally buttoning up his shirt not two feet away. This goddamn hotel room is _so_ small. And, alright, the bed-sharing thing has happened a couple more times since that first game, but it’s fine, okay, it’s normal and Joel is dealing with it.

“Why not?” TK asks, loud enough that Joel is seriously concerned that Morgan will overhear. “C’mon, dude! Seriously, I think my idea about the skywriter was a good one. You’ve gotta use that ELC money somehow.”

From the background of the call, Joel can make out someone's low voice say, “Jesus Christ,” before TK squawks and another person takes over the call.

“Sorry about him,” Nolan says, in a tone that suggests he says this often. “I should've kept him away from the coffee.” This is followed by another yelp, and then, muffled, “Goddamn it dude, did you just bite me?” 

Then, TK is talking again, this time over the sounds of a struggle. “Hey, listen to me—ouch, Patty—I thought about it—oof—some more, and I think you should—_hey!_—”

Joel hangs up.

He doesn’t miss, however, that TK actually does bring Nolan flowers that morning. Nolan lobs them at his head with deadly accuracy. Though, when he thinks the locker room is empty, he gathers up the tiny white flowers and carefully puts them in his bag.

* * *

Claude catches Joel staring at Morgan and winks. 

Joel valiantly smothers a scream.

* * *

The next day, Morgan is sitting on his bed, folding and unfolding his clothes in the hopes that they might look marginally less wrinkled for the game tomorrow, and objectively he looks kind of dumb with his tongue poking out of his mouth and his bed scattered with formal-wear refuse, but the sun dancing across his face makes his hair look kind of golden and Joel can’t stop himself before he says, “Would you, maybe, want to go get coffee with me some time?”

Morgan looks up from where he’s now trying and failing to sort his socks. “What?” Joel barely stops himself from clapping a hand over his mouth like some kind of dramatic movie heroine.

“I said, um, would you want to get coffee with me?” Joel says, stronger this time. 

Morgan’s ears turn pink. “Like, right now?” 

Joel nods, probably a little too enthusiastically. “Sure, yeah, now is great.”

Morgan drops the three socks he had been holding. None of them match. "Yeah," he says, and Joel can't be imagining how he sounds a little breathless. "Yeah, now works."

The elevator ride down is a little awkward, and they keep making eye contact in the mirrored wall panels before looking away. When they get to the lobby, Joel realizes he doesn’t know a damn thing about New Jersey coffee shops, so he has to use Google Maps to find a Starbucks. It at least breaks the tension, because Morgan can’t stop laughing every time Joel has to look at his phone for directions. It’s a short distance, but it’s nice outside, so they take the long way. Their fingers brush together as they walk and Joel’s breath catches embarrassingly every time. 

Once they make it to the Starbucks, the line is literally out the door. “I’m sorry,” Joel says, heart sinking. “This is going kind of terribly.” 

Morgan grins. “A little bit, yeah.” But, he still reaches over to lace their fingers together, so Joel thinks it’s probably going to turn out alright.

Besides, nobody in Philly knows who they are—yet—so Joel can lean over and kiss Morgan, right there in the middle of the street.

**Author's Note:**

> I finished editing this literally the day Frosty got sent down ... farewell sweet prince
> 
> You can also find me on twitter [@catchascatchcn](https://www.twitter.com/catchascatchcn), yelling about disaster rookies and whatnot


End file.
